October 9
by Anrheithwyr
Summary: "Ron turned aside, towards the calendar that hung on the kitchen wall. Hermione appeared to be busy behind him, distracted with pouring milk and preparing breakfast. He stepped closer to the calendar, reading over the red ink that she always used to mark important details, like birthdays or meetings. He peered at today's date casually, reading the red ink. October 9."


_**Written for the 'Ten times Ten Challenge' by Utlaga, using colour: red. **_

_**Written for the 'If You Dare Challenge' by Slytherin Cat, using prompt # 232, years. **_

_**Warning: This story deals with the death of a young child.**_

….

"_No farewell words were spoken,_

_No time to say goodbye. _

_You were gone before we knew it,_

_And only God knows why."-Author Unknown_

...  
_"A flower bloomed already wilting. _

_Beginning its life with an early ending."-R. J. Gonzales _

….

"_Sweet little flower of heavenly birth, _

_You were too fair to bloom on earth."-Author Unknown_

….

"_How very softly you tiptoed into our world, _

_Almost silently, only a moment you stayed. _

_But what an imprint your footsteps have left upon our hearts."-Dorothy Ferguson _

….

"_Some people say it is a shame. Others even imply that it would have been better if the baby had never been created. But the short time I had with my child is precious to me. It is painful to me, but I still wouldn't wish it away."-Christine O'Keeffe Lafser_

….

When he woke up, it was to pulled-back covers, the mattress still pressed down in the shape of his wife, though she no longer present. A quick glance at the clock sitting on his table revealed that it was only seven in the morning, and on a Sunday, too. Ron sighed, wondering if it was worth it to crawl out of bed, or if he was willing to risk ten more minutes of sleep. If Hermione was already up for the day, she'd probably be expecting him to get up soon enough as well; Hermione seemed to have a hard time wrapping her head around the concept that Ron wasn't a morning person, despite knowing him for sixteen years, and having been married for four, going on five, years. She didn't seem to ever have considered some people liked to sleep in on the weekends; Hermione was the sort who was always looking for something new to do.

Ron groaned, pulling himself from bed, stumbling into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He could hear clattering in the kitchen, and Hermione seemed to be singing off-key as she moved about. Ron couldn't help but smile at the thought, walking into the kitchen to see his wife cooking eggs and smiling brightly. It was a cold, wet day in early October, and Hermione had shut the windows last night to keep out a draft. She smiled at Ron, setting a plate of eggs down on the table, bending to pick up their daughter, who babbled happily to her mother. She smiled back at the toddler, before looking at Ron with a soft smile. It was a calm day, the calm before the storm, he would later think.

"Here, can you take Rose?" Hermione asked Ron, handing her their young daughter, who immediately grabbed onto Ron's shirt, clinging to it like a monkey, her head resting just under his collarbone. She was just over two and a half years old, with curly red hair and brown eyes, as well as an inquisitive look to her, as if she were fascinated by the whole world around her. Ron loved his young daughter more than anything else, besides Hermione and their infant son, Hugo. Hugo, the baby boy Ron had always dreamed of, who had been born back in June, a welcome addition to their hectic family; the five month old was busy sleeping in his cot now, thankfully. He was finally sleeping for more than a few hours every night.

Ron turned aside, towards the calendar that hung on the kitchen wall. Hermione appeared to be busy behind him, distracted with pouring milk and preparing breakfast. He stepped closer to the calendar, reading over the red ink that she always used to mark important details, like birthdays or meetings. He peered at today's date casually, reading the red ink. _October 9. _Ron froze in front of the calendar, his head spinning. He had forgotten today's date, had forgotten about the horrible, awful things that had happened four years ago.

"Ron?" Hermione asked, seeing the blood rush from her husband's face; he was shaking, and she moved over to pull her daughter from his arms, lest he drop the child. "Ron, what's wrong? What's going on?" He was staring at the calendar, his eyes wide and tears were in his eyes as he turned away from her, away from the wall where _October 9 _was circled in red. Hermione gasped, looking at the red herself, and suddenly, she understood what was going on-she understood then the horrified, terrified look on her husband's face.

_October 9-Caddy's 4__th__ birthday. _

"Oh, Ron," she murmured, her voice strained, and she set Rose down on the ground, moving to hug her husband. He tensed up, shifting away from her, looking pained, as if recalling the day four years ago, the painful day that had left their family forever damaged. _October 9_. Why had she even marked that on the calendar? Why had she ever written that down, a painful, awful reminder of the daughter they would never get back? "Ron, I'm so sorry, are you okay?"

"I need-"his voice cracked and he closed his eyes, trying-and failing-to will the tears away. "I need to be alone right now," he murmured. All remnants of happiness from just a few minutes ago were gone. The mood of their home had changed, darkened, as the young parents stood inches apart from each other. "I need to….to visit her today. I need to say hi to her….alone." He looked up at Hermione with wild, hurt eyes, and she nodded in understanding. Ron, stilling his tears, concentrated on imagining the little grave where _she _was. Cadence, his daughter. He spun around, the sharp crack of Apparition hiding the quiet crying of his wife. Two parents, mourning the only way they knew how.

….

"Hey," Ron murmured to the little grave marker, bending down to put a shaking hand on top. It looked worn already, the edges of the stone already beginning to smooth out, as if the world was busy trying to hide completely this little corner. Ron shifted his weight, sitting down in the dry grass, his hand still resting on stone, tears pricking his eyes. It had been nearly four years since they'd buried their child, four years since the horrific day when Ron had taken his wife to the hospital to give birth to their daughter, Cadence.

He let his fingers trail over the name that had been carved in, closing his eyes. He didn't need to see the grave to know every word, every mark carved into the stone. _Cadence Molly Weasley, October 9, 2004. There is no foot too small that it cannot leave an impression on this world. _His daughter, his baby girl, who had died only a few hours after she born, suddenly, like a candle being blown out. He had cradled her body in his arms, refusing to accept that her heart would no longer beat, that he hadn't even gotten a chance to know her, when she was cruelly ripped away from him.

He could still remember burying his daughter, the baby who had only been alive for a few, fleeting hours, her tiny heart too weak to keep on beating. Ron had held her tightly in his arm for her first few minutes, when she had let out a feeble cry like a kitten; her eyes had been closed the entire time. He had never gotten to see her eyes open, not even once, though he stayed by her side the entire time, willing his daughter to live. She had been born early-much too early-and the healers had tried their best to keep her alive, but there wasn't enough magic in the world sometimes to save the ones you loved, no matter how much Ron had willed it to be so.

"I miss you, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice cracking as he spoke. The wind blew around him, and Ron thought wildly that he ought to have brought flowers. Her grave was bare save for a few dried leaves, which he brushed away, wishing he'd thought to bring a toy or some sort of way to connect with his little girl. Four years….it was hard to imagine what Cadence might have looked like; would she have his red hair, or Hermione's brown? His eyes, or hers? Would she be a troublemaker, or would she be quiet, like Hugo was? "We all miss you….Mummy, Grandma, me…..we really miss you, baby girl." He took a big gulp of air, at a loss for words, at a loss for emotions other than desperation and fear and sadness. Ron stood up then, looking down at the lonely little stone. "I'll be back, baby girl, I'll be back soon, I promise."

He walked away from the grave that sat alone under a tree, on the edge of the Weasley property. In the distance, he could see the Burrow, where, no doubt, Mum and Dad would be waking up to prepare for the day, possibly untouched by the memory of their granddaughter. To the left was Ottery St. Catchpole, the Muggle village. Certainly, there, no one was concerned about a young wizard who was trudging away from his daughter's grave, trying to hold back the tears. He walked on, remembering Hermione, who had been so happy this morning until he had ruined it all for her by reminded her of Cadence.

Ron turned back to the grave one last time, imaging his little girl, the one he'd held for only a few hours, the one he barely knew. Cadence. He smiled sadly, recalling the two children he had at home, little Rose, who was playful and loud and smarter than anyone he knew. And baby Hugo, who was quiet, but always seemed to be watching Ron's every move. He had lost one child, yes, but he had two more to be thankful for, and at least he had gotten to spend those few short hours of Caddy's life by her side.

Though it hurt, even today, he couldn't have wished for anything less.


End file.
